Meet me in that place
   where the clouds
                    greet the trees,
   where swaying
             canopies
                        sprinkle
                  dancing
                         moonlight
                         on dark shadowy dreams.
That beautiful place
              of shining light
                     and ever loving grace,
              that place free from fear
                     filled with
                              peace and love,
                                      within
                                skies
                              of  eternity
                                     that never end……
Far away from the hum-drum
                                     of life,
                     far from the place
                          where anger and hate
                            cut you like a knife.
That place where the stars
            sing sweet songs of love
               where the sun and the moon
                      dance passionately above.
Meet me under that big willow tree
            shaded by
                         hope
                             and
                                love,
that place
           that was always meant
                          for us to be free.
That place for you and me....

The frost is still there,
Throttling the rhododendron leaf,
And ice stalls the dissolve
Of the stone-like snow,
Yet I am happy.

The sun-rays are almost Etruscan,
Filtered low through lace and blind,
Like that ***** of sunset on Irene’s hair
Sad “couleur de feuille-morte”.
Yet it is sultry.

I can open a window
And breathe the warming air
Finches flock close, careless,
Now desperate for food
And pluck menescent fruit
Off an ice-bound branch.
In the distance, a cardinal sings.

Thick drapes are drawn aside
And geraniums strain toward the light.
In a nook outside the door,
An old cat basks on a corner of sun.
He yawns, seeing me, and strolls across the snow.

All nature seems to wait, but poised,
For the final unfettered token.
Will it be a sudden, favonian breeze?
Or the robin’s unrelenting noise?
Telling us, “Winter is broken”?